


Playing Possum

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Playing Possum [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Fake Character Death, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jesse McCree's bounty doubles, Jesse has a plan: stay low and don't die.</p><p>Waking up with his funeral on the front page of the newspaper, it becomes clear he failed step one. </p><p>Or Overwatch has a problem with fake funerals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Failed Step One

**Author's Note:**

> I already have most of this written up but it's hella long, so parts! Part 2 is almost done so expect it in a day or two. Woo. This should be a ride.

 

Sometime between midnight and three in the morning, someone decided to take Jesse McCree’s already impressive bounty on his head and double it.

McCree knew this because Fareeha had called him at five in the morning with the opening “what have you done now!”

It only took McCree a few seconds after waking up to come up with a list of possible offenses a mile long. Which included, but was not limited to, trying Genji’s sword which he’d been banned from touching since the cake incident, encouraging Tracer to use her speed to steal Morrison’s food, and letting Hana have a sip of moonshine.

None of these examples were the reason for McCree’s bounty. In fact, McCree had not done anything. Except for existing.

“The Deadlock gang,” Morrison told him at the meeting that morning, a picture of his new impressive bounty of the screen. This one was not from the government proper, but from an underground black market. Jesse McCree’s life, worth one hundred and twelve million dollars. Which was actually a lot higher than McCree expected. “They want your head on a platter.”

“A platter.” McCree sat at the end of the table, the subject of attention for this meeting. The rest of the gang on base had attended for the most part, except for Hana who was doing a livestream in the entertainment room. “That doesn’t seem like their style.”

“Actually they want your other arm in a bag,” Winston said. McCree grabbed his other arm, cradling it close to his chest. Ouch. “But semantics.”

“Well that’s just not right,” McCree muttered. He looked at the bounty. That was a high number. “Why they want me dead so bad? Last time I checked, they didn’t give a rat’s ass where I ended up as long as it wasn’t on their tail.”

“We think it’s new management.” Morrison again. A picture came up on the screen. McCree recognized him at once. Old guy from Deadlock. Old guy from Deadlock who he busted last month. Old guy from Deadlock who’d always hated his ass.

“Well shit.”

“That’s right.” The picture went down, placed by the normal Overwatch logo. “Given circumstances, we’ll have to be on guard from here on out. McCree, no leaving the base besides missions until we get this handled.”

McCree couldn’t help it; he actually groaned.

“Oh come on. Lockdown? Seriously?” He glared at Jack. “I’m not a kid anymore, ya know. You don’t need ta ground me for my own safety.”

“You wish to put yourself in danger when you are being targeted?” Hanzo’s voice was as dry as ever. “Have you no concern for your own life?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. “my life is worth ten billion Yen.” McCree watched with glee as Hanzo looked away. “I read. You’re worth a pretty penny. Everyone in this room is with what we’re doin’.” He pointed to the screen, the Overwatch logo shining bright. “Everyone’s got a piece up their life up for sale on the market. I’m just a little expensive at the moment.”

“You’re a mansion with a hot tub,” Genji said from next to him and McCree immediately reached up his hand for a high five. Genji slapped it back. Across the table, Mei covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle.  

“Don’t encourage him, brother,” Hanzo said, still not looking at the pair.

“I wouldn’t if you had told me your bounty had gone up as well.” Genji’s voice was serious now, accusing. “Is the clan truly that invested in your death?”

Hanzo didn’t answer. Another meeting interrupted by Shimada drama, McCree thought. They should get a chart. Mei could crunch the numbers and get some good statistics out of it.

“McCree is right ya know,” Lena spoke up. She never liked silence. “Not like they can find him, with how often we’re in and out of places.”

McCree couldn’t see Morrison’s face from under his mask, but he was sure if he could, the man would be scowling. Lena looked entirely unaffected. Despite her perky attitude, she was as hard as the rest of them. Just wore a softer shell over that steel.

“No trips outside the base alone. Until the bounty is down,” Morrison said. McCree sighed. Better than the alternative, but still not ideal. Babysitting. He was too old for babysitting.

“I will gladly accompany you anywhere if need be, McCree,” Genji said. McCree smirked at him.

“You just wanna kick my ass at darts.”

Genji didn’t reply, but the hum he let out was as close as McCree would get to a confession.

Later that night, he called Fareeha about the matter, letting her know everything had been settled. She wasn’t pleased when he refused her offer to help track down the man who placed the bounty, but eventually McCree convinced her he’d be just fine as agents got on the matter.

“You got better things to do, kid,” he said, leaning back on his chair, phone tucked under his chin. “Justice can’t wait on old men.”

“You’re thirty seven, Jesse.”

“You thought I was old at twenty.”

“I was thirteen.”

“Point stands.”

They chatted a little more, catching up. Proud as he was of Fareeha, he disliked they were apart so much. With Overwatch spread so thin, they rarely were in the same location for long, constantly bouncing across the globe. He understood why she was so busy, she was truly her mother’s daughter, but he missed her sometimes. She was the closest thing he had to family in the old days. Like the little sister he never had.

Which meant teasing her was always in order.

“I remember when you had that bob-”

“ _Jeese_.”

McCree laughed. The hour was late. “I gotta get going kiddo. Early morning.”

“How many times will I have to tell you to stop calling me kiddo?”

“Till the day I die.”

Her mouth grew into a strict line. Oh, she was going to beat his ass for that, next time they sparred. “Not funny.”

“It’s little funny.”

“Jesse.” That was her serious voice. It reminded McCree so much of Ana it hurt some days. God, he missed her. “Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

The silence was telling.

“Ouch. Hit a guy where it hurts.” McCree put his hand over his heart, mock offended. “Alright, alright, look, I’ll be careful. Check round corners and everything. Even follow the stupid buddy system they got set up.”

“Promise?” Fareeha rarely asked for promises.

“Cross my heart.” That looked to appease her and Fareeha’s smile grew sly.

“You know,” she said, looking off into the corner. “Maybe you could bring your new friend of yours for protection. The archer fellow. The one who you think smells like flowers and-”

McCree promptly hung up on her. He’d made a classic mistake.

Any teasing he could dish out, Fareeha could dish right back.

* * *

 

After a week of being on the assassin market, McCree’s bounty went up another million.

At this point. McCree was starting to feel like the prettiest girl at the prom.

“What did you do to this man, that he wants you dead so badly?” Hanzo asked on a day to town to grab supplies. McCree was still allowed out of base, but he had to be in disguise now. Wearing long sleeves wasn’t his style, but if it let him on the move, McCree would deal.

“Did you steal something of his?” Mei was a few steps in front of them. With the rise in the bounty, McCree also now had two escorts. Now that he minded: Mei was good company. She was picking through the frozen goods in the grocery store, wearing nothing but a tank top. McCree was pretty sure she ran cold automatically now.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re an Outlaw. Isn’t that what you do?” McCree looked at her and she smiled. “I used to watch Westerns. Someone at the old base brought them for nights between research. I loved them.”

“You’re tellin’ me you’ve seen High Noon?” McCree heard Hanzo groan. Mei nodded, a smirk on her face.

“Yes. But Magnificent Seven is better.”

“Wait, who’s your favorite.  Eastwood or Wayne?”

And that was how they spent ten minutes in the freezer aisle, debating the best movies of the genre as Hanzo ran his hand across his face.

“If you must know,” McCree said when they were at the checkout, getting enough food to keep Lena moving for at least a week. “I challenged him to a shootout back in the day. Tryin’ to prove myself, you know. And he took me on.”

“He wishes you dead because you defeated him?” Hanzo sounds almost disappointed.

“Well, that and I shot his hat off his head cus I was a cocky son of a bitch,” Hanzo’s mouth dropped open a fraction and Mei clapped her hands together. Given her taste in entertainment, McCree would have to tell her stories more often. She could appreciate them. “I blown a dozen of his robberies too, so that’s probably the big reason. But I doubt he ain’t sore over that hat. It was nice.” McCree frowned. “Much have been a bitch to replace.”

“Was it nice?” Mei looked away from the cashier. McCree nodded.

“Designer.”

“If you were perhaps not so determined to show off, you may not be in this situation,” Hanzo said. McCree looked over his shoulder.

“Doubt it.” Hanzo’s scowl remained. “You’re worried bout me?”

“Of course.” And didn’t that throw McCree off guard. Hanzo could go from defensive to open in seconds, depending on if he found it important or not. McCree was still trying to get the hang of it. They were friends now, good friends he’d reckon, but the man had enough history that McCree was sure he’d spend the rest of his life digging it up.  “The amount on your head is sizable. I’m concerned someone may try to claim it.”

“They’d need to be a goddamn genius.” Hanzo didn’t look convinced. “Overwatch is hard to track. They ain’t gonna find me before they find them. Just like they ain’t gonna find you.”

Hanzo’s eyebrows rose. “They’re attempting to dismantle the price on my life as well?”

“Well of course. You’re family at this point.” McCree watched as shock covered Hanzo’s features. “Oh come’on, don’t give me that look. You’ve saved our collective skins dozen times over. That’s family in my book. Ain’t that right, Mei?”

Mei looked back at them and just smiled.

“I-” Hanzo cut off. He looked downright flustered. After a few false starts, he finally spoke. “Thank you, McCree.”

“No problemo.” McCree reached forward to the candy section and placed three suckers on the conveyer. Trying to distract himself from the fluttering in his chest. He thought he’d grown out of this in middle school. Crushes. Though that might have been an understatement, given how much he enjoyed spending time with Hanzo as of late. “Now tell me, Shimada; how you feel about grape flavor? Cus I got cherry here and I’m not about to separate Mei from green apple.”

He didn’t notice the way Hanzo was staring at him, a fond smile on his face, as he blabbered away.

* * *

 

Another week passed. McCree’s bounty went up another thousand.

“Not another million?” McCree said, staring at the screen, in route to a new mission. “Guess they don’t like me as much. Shame.”

Hanzo responded by promptly smacking him on the back of his head.

The mission was simple, covert like all their missions were these days. Didn’t want reformed Overwatch to be picked up by the UN. They took a longer team than usual, but otherwise the job was the same. The usual. Nabbing bad stuff from the bad guys. Leaving it for the good guys. Then running off the celebrate a job well done.

They made good progress, the mission getting done in under an hour. The bad guys went down quick, and by the end of it, there were only a few left. Morrison had the main point, working with McCree, and arrows flashed above. McCree watched as one sailed into the chest of a Talon droid and grinned.

“Good shot!”  
The com crackled. “You do not have to shout every time I hit my target.”

“Why not? It’s impressive!”

“It’s annoying.”

“You’re no-”

It happened all at once. A crack in the air. Morrison in front of him turning around, mouth in mid-shout. A sudden pain in his chest, like getting hit with a sledge hammer. Voices, screaming all at once as he fell, unable to stand up.

“For the Deadlock Gang!”

“McCree!”

“Jeese!”

“Jesse!”

“Shit!”

“ _Jesse!_ ”

_Huh_ , McCree thought as he hit the dirt. So Hanzo did know how to use his first name.

The sand stung and he couldn’t move as the world around him moved into chaos. Morrison was standing over him, gun raised.

“McCree is down!”

Angela had appeared out of nowhere, McCree thought. She lifted him into her arms, and God it hurt.

“I’ve got him.”

“I’m coming with-”

“Morrison-”

“I’m coming with. Mei, Lucio, Genji, get to the point! D.Va, Hanzo, the assassin.”

“On it!”

McCree felt himself be moved. It was harder to breath now. The word was going dark. Shock, he thought. He looked up at Angela.

“Angie?”

“You’re going to be alright McCree,” she said, looking straight ahead. “You’re going to be fine.”

McCree passed out to the sound of Morrison speaking to Angie as they ran.

* * *

  


He woke up in a room he didn’t recognize.

It was Overwatch, that was for sure. Had to be part of the main base, given the design of the structure. But McCree had never seen this part of the medical ward before, usually used to the lower bay with more beds.

Ending up in a part of medbay he didn’t recognize? That was never a good sign. It meant he’d gone and fucked himself up more than usual.

He tried to sit up. His chest hurt something horrible. He felt like he’d been run over. The memories from the mission came back, the bullet in the air, the shot in his chest. He gave up trying to move into a sitting position.

This wasn’t the first time Jesse McCree had been shot. But man, did it feel like the worst.

“Jesse!” Angela walked in the door in front of his room. She was in her coat, and Jesse did his best to smile at her.

“Hey doc. How bad am I?”

“Almost roadkill.” Morrison followed in after Angela. He wasn’t in his armor but his mask was still on. He walked over next to McCree and shook his head. “You gave us a scare.”

“Not my fault asshole found us.” He closed both eyes then opened one. “How did the asshole find us, again?”

Angela and Morrison looked at each other for a moment.

“A mole, we think,” Angela said. “We’re looking for them now. Which is why we put you here: security.”

They weren’t telling him something, McCree thought. There was something in the room he was missing. He looked over at the pair and frowned.

“Why is no one else here?” Morrison and Angela were silent. “Am I gettin’ the silent treatment or what?”

Angela spoke first after a moment. “Jesse...there’s a mole here. In our organization. We have a better chance of finding them if they think they-”

It hit McCree at once. He sat up straighter. Looked at Morrison. Scowled.

“You did not tell everyone I was dead.”

It came back in a moment, the feeling of burying everyone, after Overwatch. How he couldn’t bare to show up for the duo’s funeral when the thing came crashing down, too busy trying to drown himself in a bottle of whiskey. How angry he’d been when he found Morrison had been alive all this time, playing possum while he sulked around the Earth-

“Of course not.”

McCree stopped his tirade in mid sentence. “What?”

Angela was staring at Morrison as he spoke. “There’s a mole in Overwatch Jesse. We told the organization you were dead. And the press. Not everyone else.” McCree looked at him for a moment. “The core group knows, McCree. Told them personally.”

“You did?” Skepticism. “And everyone ain’t here hollering at me cus-”

“The mole is in the organization. And we’ve been known to fake this before.”

“Right.” McCree hoped Morrison could hear the venom in his voice.

“We can’t have them finding out you’re still here. Thus secrecy is essential. We can’t allow them to visit until we find the mole.”

“And how long is that going to take.”

“We’re aiming for twenty four hours. You’ve been out for three days already. We’ve made progress”

McCree stared at him for a long moment before turning to Angela. Angela hsi friend, Angela who’d worked with him since the beginning. “Angie,” he asked. “That the truth?”

Angela didn’t even falter before answering.

“Yes.”

McCree watched her face for a moment. For the tells he knew her to hide before playing cards. He saw no sign of them. At last he sighed.

“Fine. But someone get me my damn serape. The red one. It’s my favorite.” Morrison and Angela headed for the door. “And a note to everyone apologizing for my fool ass. And a newspaper: I wanna see what pictures they choose.”

They did as he asked. Except for the serape. Instead, Angela provided him the green one.

“Your red one is in the wash,” she said, apologetic. “Lena insisted.”

Later on, McCree will hate that he believed her.

* * *

 

They gave Genji his gun.

That was the first thing McCree noticed when he managed to snag a newspaper to get a glimpse of the outside world. He was on the front page--well his funeral was--and it spiraled into a full page spread about his life and his accomplishments. They even had photos of him as a kid. Which meant Winston had handed out the picture of McCree in a hat two sizes too big for his head, to the press.

McCree hated that photo. Almost as much as he hated the sight of Peacemaker in Genji’s holster on the front page.

Back when Overwatch had first started, McCree let Geni try his gun on the practice range once. The incident had ended with three holes in Jesse’s favorite hat, and a burst water pipe. Genji had been forbidden to touch his gun again. Jesse had explicitly left it to be buried with him for that reason.

He knew why they didn’t go for it; probably didn’t want to dig it back up with his fake corpse later. But could they have least put it in storage instead of letting Genji have it? Before he shot someone’s eye out with a cowboy impression.

Genji didn’t look up for a cowboy impression in the photo. His shoulder’s sagged, and the suit he was in reminded McCree of when they buried Ana. It wasn’t a memory McCree wanted to linger on.

He looked at everyone else. They were doing a good job acting, that was for sure. Hana’s chin was held high, but tears ran down her cheeks. Lena looked terrible, circles under her eyes. Winston looked like he was going to drop the fake coffin in the shot where they carried it to the grave. Fareeha’s hand covered her face in the main shot of the gang at the funeral, her shoulders shaking. McCree couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry.

A sickening feeling started in his gut. He knew Fareeha. She could lie, but she was rare to go over the top. And she despised being seen as soft in public spaces, especially after Ana. Her emotions, she’d always told him, were her own. For her to go this far at a fake funeral...unless.

McCree thought about who’d he had seen since waking up. Angela and Morrison. No one else. Not even a letter. He’d said everyone was being kept away to hide any leads. But not even a call? Not even a letter? That was out of character. Where was Genji teasing him about getting in the way of bullets? Where was Fareeha giving him the lecture of a lifetime for scaring the shit out of her? Where was Lena with a pile of books to keep him busy?

Where was Hanzo, calling him a fool to try to make McCree forget how he’d shouted his name when a bullet ripped through his chest?

McCree’s gaze turned to the photo again. It looked so real. So true. They’d even put his hat on top of his coffin, draped with the American flag. His sense of unease growing, he looked instead to the corner of the photo with Hanzo.

He looked...terrible. There was no other way to describe it. There were circles under his eyes. His hands looked to be shaking. And right there, in the middle of the funeral, he seemed to be screaming at a woman who was wearing a hood, her face concealed from view. The shot didn’t let McCree see her face, but to see Hanzo so visibly furious. At a stranger. In public.

They didn’t. They couldn’t.

They did. And he was a fool to believe otherwise.

McCree sat back in his cot. Looked down at his bandages. It’d been close, that was for sure. It could have killed him. Anyone who saw the shot and the aftermath could easily think him dead. Unless they were told.

McCree thought of Angela. Of Morrison. So good with secrets as they got older. A better spy than a medic somedays.  So sure secrets were better than the truth for a goal.

“God damn it,” McCree said, staring up at the ceiling. “They told em’ I’m dead.”


	2. Rumors were Greatly Exaggerated

They did, in fact, think McCree was dead.

To be fair, they thought it because they were told as such.

Three days ago, Genji was waiting outside of the operating room, doing his best not to twitch. As soon as the mission wrapped up, they’d all stormed to check on their fallen friend, still in surgery according to Angela. The lobby of the Overwatch hospital was cramped at the moment, filled with worried friends doing their best to cope, the rest on their way. Hana was playing a videogame in the corner, clearly trying to distract herself. Lena had brought McCree’s favorite serape, her foot tapping against the floor. Mei looked to be reading up on academic papers. Lucio was speaking into his phone about canceling a concert. 

Hanzo was pacing. Given Genji’s estimates, this would be his fourteenth lap around the room. If he kept at it, he’d likely wear holes into the floor.

Genji closed his eyes. Dealing with his brother was still difficult. The past may have been forgiven, but the rips were not yet repaired. He did not want to talk to Hanzo while trying to control his own emotions. But Hanzo clearly needed someone to intervene. 

“Brother,” he said, grabbing Hanzo’s arm. Hanzo shook him off, expected, but Genji grabbed it again. This time Hanzo did not try to shake him away. “Brother, McCree will be fine.”

“He took a bullet to the torso.”

One shot to the chest: it wasn’t good, not even for McCree. Genji pushed the fear away. Now was not the time. “He has survived far worse.”

Hanzo scoffed, but Genji could see him relax, if only a fraction. Over a decade and he could still read his brother’s tells.  “Fool’s luck is still luck.” 

“But it has worked for him so far.” Genji led Hanzo to a chair and sat him down. He knew not what Hanzo and McCree’s relationship had been of late--he refused to look into it too closely--but he knew the two were friends. Despite his brother’s commentary, he cared for McCree deeply. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have dropped his bow in his haste to help the other man when the gunshot rang through the air. “He will be fine, brother.”

“Yep!” Both Shimadas looked up to Lena sitting across from them. She held up the red serape she brought and grinned. “He might be a bit grumpy, but this should cure that.” She took a wiff of the serape and grimaced. “Though might wanna wash it first.” 

“McCree has never seen a laundry machine,” Hanzo said, voice flat. Genji took it as a good sign: teasing was better than downright fear. “We would have to introduce him to it.”

“Something to do once he’s better!” Lena folded up the serape again and smiled wide. Genji could see the strain on her face. Like him, she held worry despite past evidence of McCree’s fortitude. “I called Fareeha. She’ll be happy to help.”

Genji couldn’t help but be relieved Lena called their old friend. He’d hoped someone had talked to her personally rather than getting the general notice from Athena. McCree was the only family Fareeha had left. An older brother of sorts. She’d be furious to hear he was hurt. “I’m sure she will.”

The doors to the operating room opened, catching all their attention.  Everyone turned. Those not standing up stood and Lena zipped to the front where Angela had emerged. She was in her scrubs, hands freshly washed. 

“When do we get to see him, doc?” Lena asked. “Cus we got the welcoming party ready to--”

Lena cut off as soon as Angela looked up. Genji knew that face. Everyone who’d been with Overwatch in the old days did. It was the face Angela had when delivering news about every agent they lost. Ana. Gérard. And now--

“No,” Genji said and he hated the way his voice shook. 

“Genji-” Angela sounded tired.

“Do not say it-” Genji felt like he was pleading. The calm Zenyatta taught him to hold onto in these situations refused to hold. Slipping away like blood in the sand. “Angela, please--”

“It got his heart,” Angela said and Genji felt himself shake. Lena dropped the serape. Behind him, Genji could hear Lucio hang up his phone. “His lungs, they weren’t getting enough oxygen because of the smoking. I tried--”

Multiple things happened at once. Lena rushed forward, blinking into the operating room, then blinking out, face ashen. Hana made a strangled noise. Mei began to cry. 

And Hanzo...Hanzo took one look at Lena’s face and ran. 

Genji didn’t even think about following him. Instead he sat down, watching as Hana wiped at her eyes in the corner, before flinging her arms around Lucio. Lena blinked to a chair, her head in her hands. Genji took deep breaths.

The first time Genji ever met McCree, he’d shouted something vile at him. Back when he was bitter at the world, bitter at his life, and bitter of his circumstances. McCree had just smiled at him, not even taking a second to comment on the robotic body, the glow. Taken off his hat. Put it on Genji’s head. 

“Gotta say,” he’d let out a low whistle. “You’d make a damn good cowboy with those fightin’ words.”

That was who McCree was. Willing to look past hurt and pain and find something worth digging up. Hanging onto. 

Genji reached for his phone. Called up a number he hadn’t called directly in years. 

“Genji,” Fareeha sounded on edge. She knew what was coming. “Is there news about Jesse?”

Genji let out a deep breath. 

“I am so sorry, Fareeha.”

Genji looked at the doors his brother had fled through and wished he could have run with him. 

* * *

  
  
  


When Angela and Morrison came to visit next, he asked them right out.

“Did you tell everyone I’m dead?” A pause. “I mean it. Did you lie to me?” He looked to Angela. “Angie, did you lie to me?”   


He hoped they would deny it. That they would claim he was being paranoid and sneak someone up there to prove otherwise. Instead they looked at each other. Then back at him. Angela opened her mouth.

“Jesse--” 

“God damn it.” McCree wished he had his hat so he could throw it to the floor, if only for dramatic flare. He pointed at Morrison. “Was this your idea?”

Morrison lifted his head. “It was the best way to secure your safety--”

“Damn my safety!” McCree got out of bed, swinging his legs over the side. It hurt to walk but he didn’t care. This was important. Angela pleaded for him to get back in bed but he ignored her, poking Morrison’s chest. “I know you think it’s perfectly fine to go round lyin’ about your demise, but some of us actually care about the feelings of other people!” He turned to Angela. The movement hurt. “And you! You know what it was like to bury this jackass. You really wanna do that to our friends? Again? And lie to me about it?”

Angela’s face looked guilty for a second. “I was going to tell you the truth--”

“‘Was’ ain’t the same as ‘did.’”

“They would have killed you again if they knew, and when you wouldn’t go along with it I--”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your excuses, Angie. Tell em to someone who cares.” He sunk down further in his cot. 

“We needed them to believe it,” Morrison said, and his voice lacked remorse, the big bastard. “They knew our route. That means they have access to our organization. If everyone here knew, they could attack again. We needed to figure out who the mole was--”

“And didja figure it out?” Morrison didn’t reply. McCree scowled. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But you better figure it out in the next five minutes if you haven’t already, cus I’m headed downstairs to blow your secret wide open.” He limped towards the door. 

“Jesse--” Angela grabbed his arm. He looked over his shoulder to turn his glare at her. “No matter how you feel, you’re too injured to leave.”

“So you’re gonna tell them yourself that I’m healthier than a horse and I’ll have a bunch of visitors in a hot minute?”

Silence.

“Alrighty then. Good talk. I’m gonna go and bring myself back from the dead. I’ll be back when I break my stitches.” He continued to limp towards the door.   

A long sigh.

“Fine. But you’re going in a wheelchair.”

“Angela--”

“I told you he’d never agree to this plan. Honestly, I’m somewhat repulsed I went along with it after all the reports we’ve been getting from Winston. To be frank, I’m repulsed with a lot of things I’ve gone along with as of late--” She ran her hand down her face.  “Now get the wheelchair, Jack. We have places to be.”

McCree grinned for a second before her words sunk in.

“Reports?”

Angela sighed. 

“You were deeply missed, Jesse McCree.”

* * *

  
Here was the plain truth : Angela did not give Jesse McCree his favorite serape when he asked because someone else had already taken it.

Lena was the one who found it once it went missing. To be fair, she wasn’t looking for it at the time, instead determined to find one Hanzo Shimada who’d been missing for almost four hours. Lena had been sent to find him by Winston, called out specifically because “she’d be fast enough to catch him if he was running.”

“He wants to quit Overwatch,” Winston had said, standing there in the lab. One of the computer screens was smashed. Lena could guess the culprit. “I told him he wasn’t allowed on the mission to find McCree’s assassins. And so he told me he wanted to quit and stormed out.”

Winston didn’t specify why Hanzo wanted to quit. But Lena had a solid hunch that it had to do with the cowboy hat sitting in the cafeteria that no one could bear to touch.

Her thoughts were confirmed when she found Hanzo sitting on the rooftop, one missing serape in hand. 

“I thought you were Genji,” Hanzo said, not looking at her as she climbed up next to him, taking a seat of her own. The serape wasn’t touching the rooftop, firmly situated an inch off the roof. Like he was afraid of letting it fall to the ground.

“Genji’s at the airport waiting for Fareeha.” Lena tried not to think about how that car ride would go, the legacy of a dead man hanging over them. 

Hanzo was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the serape. “She will likely want this.”

Lena shook her head. “Nah. She’s not one for holding onto clothing. If anything, she’ll want the belt.” Lena didn’t want to think how she knew that. How when Ana died, Fareeha had kept nothing but her favorite necklace. It was McCree who had packed Ana’s clothing into boxes for storage, keeping nothing but the silly belt she’d gotten him when he just started up. “She’ll probably let you keep it.”

“And if I don’t want it?” 

“Then you went to a lot of effort to grab it from my room.” 

The wind was gentle, and Lena felt it in blow her bangs aside. The older she got, the more strange she found tragedy. Back when she was a child, she thought it worldchanging, something that shattered the Earth. As she grew older, she’d learned such events only felt that way to those they impacted. To the world. Jesse McCree’s death was another day, another headline.

It was only Overwatch’s personal world that was left as rubble.

“Are you going to quit?” she asked, looking up at the stars. They reminded her of McCree, actually. When she grew up in London, the light pollution had made stargazing impossible. It was only once joining Overwatch, sitting near Route 66, that’d she’d seen them from the ground instead of her plane. McCree had told her the stories of each one he knew.

“Winston told you.” Hanzo wasn’t upset, just defeated.

“He’s a right gossip.” She looked to him. “So are you? Going to quit that is?” 

Hanzo was silent for a long moment. He looked up at the stars too. Lena wondered if Hanzo had shown him them as well. It was one of his pastimes, stargazing, she’d learned. McCree said it reminded him of home. “I was going to--” He closed his mouth and opened it again. “I was going to leave, yes.”

“You don’t look gone.”

“I was going to leave,” Hanzo continued. “To find the men who did this. And end them. Permanently.” 

Lena expected as much. She was half tempted to do the same, her own code about what was good and what was not holding her back. Hanzo’s code, she knew, was much looser in that regard. 

“I made it as far as here.” Hanzo said, pointing to the roof. “And then--” He pointed up at the stars. Sighed. “The fool brought me here once. A week after I joined your organization. Demanded I leave my room. He spent an hour babbling about constellations.” He looked up to the stars again. His hand was clenched in McCree’s serape. “I saw them and could not stop thinking about what he would think of this. Leaving.” He looked back to Lena. “I could not leave.”

Lena let that sink in for a moment. It had interested her, back when Hanzo started up, how well McCree and him got along. After all, their first introduction had been a series of insults followed by personal barbs. But as time went on, she understood it more. They got each other. The need for redemption. The past they both wanted buried and couldn’t consider letting rest. The men that haunted them, teachers, comrades. Two men with stories twisted up in their hearts. 

(Lena understood because once upon a time, she’d looked at a woman named Amélie and thought “this is what it’s like, to find someone who has seen you for who you are and does not blink.”) 

“He liked you, you know,” Lena said, leaning forward, crossing her legs, and putting her chin in her hands. “Thought you were good company.”

Hanzo managed to bark out a laugh. It was bitter, jarring, like the edge of a blade. “McCree would think a rabid dog good company.”

“You’re selling yourself short.”

“Am I?” Hanzo relaxed his grip on the serape. “Almost a year of my company and all I have done was call him a fool. The last thing he heard was me berating him.  _ For a compliment _ .” Hanzo almost spat the last word. 

“That’s not true.”

“Is it not?” Hanzo glared at Lena, anger rising in his face. His hands shook. “Have I been nothing but ungrateful for every kind gesture he has showed me? Have I been nothing but cold, and cruel, and--”

“That’s not true” Lena’s eyes were wide. “What you said earlier, about the compliment.” She didn’t think before she spoke next.  “The last thing he heard you say was his name.”

Hanzo looked at her for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, in a second, he crumpled. Just like McCree’s serape on the hospital floor. Curled over. Shaking. Head in his hands.

Watch the dragon shatter. 

Lena moved closer. After a second of hesitation, she threw her arm over his shoulder. He didn’t pull away and with that going, she pulled him close. Put her head on top of his. Let herself cry like she had since Angela stepped out of that room.

“You were his friend,” she said after the shaking had stopped, wiping away her tears. “He knew that. Everyone knew it.” And that they did. It was impossible to miss. How Hanzo could be found, sharing his sake. How McCree could be found, picking up his arrows on the battlefield to return. How both teased each other with no bite.  “He knew you--” She cut herself off.

He knew you loved him. And wasn’t that a raw wound. What ifs. What if you told him? What if he told you? What if you two were happy?

“He knew,” she settled on. “He knew.”

They sat there for another moment. 

“Are you going to the funeral? It’s in two days.” She waited for a second before she spoke again. “If you don’t want to, I won’t blame you. No one will.”

That was a lie. Some of them certainly would. Because they wouldn’t get it, how a funeral makes it real, how it spits loss in your face and leaves you to chew on it. People need time, sometimes. 

Lena had time to spare.    
“Yes. I am.”

“So am I.” She got up and looked off into the distance. Then back down at Hanzo. “If you want to keep that, I won’t tell. Your business. I’ll just tell everyone I kept it.”

She headed towards the edge to jump down onto the stairwell when Hanzo spoke.

“Lena,” she looked over her shoulder. “You were his friend too. For longer than I was.  I am deeply sorry.”

Lena felt the wind in her hair again. It smelled like cigar smoke for a moment. 

“Me too, love. Me too.”

And with that, she dropped down onto the stairwell to go back to her room.

* * *

McCree felt like they were rolling his wheelchair a lot slower than they needed to. 

“Angie,” McCree said, tilting his head back to give her a look. “I know you’re not in favor of the chewing out you’re about to get, but if we could get there before I die of old age, I’d appreciate it.”

Angie glared at him. McCree glared back. Served her right, playing this kind of shit. 

“Jack is up ahead,” she said, looking towards the double doors in front of them to the main lounge. “He’s checking out the situation.”

“What situation?” There was yelling behind the doors, he realized. Arguing.  “The hell?”

The doors opened. McCree watched as Reinhardt walked through them, running his hand down his face.

“I can’t--” He looked up and took one look at McCree, his eyes growing wide. McCree waited for the shock, the happiness. Instead, he got deadpan. 

“Can no one around here stay dead,” Reinhardt grumbled, walking past them. “Save the funerals for dead people, for God’s sake.”

McCree had a feeling he was missing something as the doors opened and he took in the lobby.

There was a fight going on, alright--Hanzo, Fareeha and a woman in a hood in an argument with one another. Hanzo looked to be shouting at the woman, Fareeha looked to be shouting at Hanzo, and the woman looked like she was trying to start a fight with Jack. They didn’t even notice as he was rolled in, too caught up screaming, and McCree cleared his throat. In the corner of the room, he saw Lena’s mouth open wide and she jabbed Genji in the side.

“Excuse me,” McCree said, letting his voice carry. The shouting stopped at once. Everyone turned towards him. “I’m sorry to crash the party, but I just got informed you’ve been under some false information and--”

And then he saw the woman’s face. The woman with her hair tucked back, an eyepatch over her eye, and her mouth hanging open. A woman he’d buried years ago.

“Ana?”


	3. A Meeting of Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left after this one!

Here was what they didn’t tell McCree: there was perhaps one more fake funeral he wasn’t told about.

To be fair, said fake funeral was only revealed to be fake a day ago, so everyone was still slow on the uptake. 

Ana Amari arrived to the funeral in full disguise, hood up, head bent low. It was a fool’s error to come out for this, she knew. Years of hiding in the shadows could be wasted if she was spotted. And yet, when her daughter called her with three words (Jesse is gone), she knew she had to come. Identity be damned. 

For years, she’d had the same nightmare. A funeral just like this one, only with the Egyptian flag on the coffin. Each time she’d woken up terrified, clattering for her phone, trying to resist the urge to call. Half of the time, she did anyway. The terror that came from dreaming of her daughter in a coffin was too raw.

It was raw now, staring at the coffin of the man she saw as a son.

She sat near the edge of the funeral, not in the back, but near the front. Fareeha noticed her at once, and she looked almost surprised as she passed by to take her seat. Ana didn’t blame her--she knew Fareeha didn’t expect her to come. She’d said as much on the phone, after her crying turned to anger.

“You abandoned him! Left him to bury you and me with your damn secrets! And now he’s dead!”

Ana hated to admit it, but in some respects Fareeha was right. She had abandoned McCree, unwilling to let more people in on her secret. Even now, she considered it for the best. At the time, getting McCree involved might have ruined him. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have regrets.

She’d abandoned the boy in life. She was not to abandon him in death. 

A few of the other agents from her time recognized her. Angela, she noticed, along with Genji, outright stared. As long as they didn’t say her name out loud, she was fine, and gave them a slight wave with a sad smile. She’d missed them, while in retirement. Hopefully they would forgive her for being gone for so long.

Fareeha gave the speech. Ana’s heart ached as she watched her daughter step onto the podium, telling the story of when she first met McCree. She deserved to mourn, not to be subjected to all of these cameras. Ana forced her mind from the topic, looking at the others who had attended. Jack was clearly surprised to see her. He likely thought she wouldn’t have come. Two others, much younger, held each other’s shoulders throughout the service. And one more, standing next to Genji, with the man’s hand on his shoulder, was staring at nothing at all.

She knew that man, she thought, staring at him for another moment. Shimada’s brother. The one who had caused Genji to be in his state in the first place. She turned back to Fareeha. She was finishing her speech, speaking of how McCree liked to sing her songs as a child. The memory came back to Ana, McCree singing her daughter soft country songs when she invited him over for dinner. She remembered thinking that he was wasted on Deadlock. This was a boy made for greater things.

She wiped her eyes. Shit. She was hoping she could save the bawling for later. She looked back at the crowd. Shimada’s brother was wiping his hand down his face. He looked worn out and exhausted. Ana remembered something her daughter had said on the phone, about McCree and a new agent he’d grown fond of. Was this who she was speaking of? A former assassin who almost killed his own brother?

_ You really could pick them, McCree _ , she thought. She looked back up at the Shimada brother to find him glancing in her direction. No, staring. With his mouth open.

She smiled at him. No need to be impolite. She could introduce herself later, speak to this man about McCree as he had been when she was gone. Her smile didn’t have the intended effect. The man outright scowled. He turned to his brother, hissing something in Japanese, then glared back at her as Genji grabbed his shoulder tight.

Ah. Perhaps this introduction would not be polite after all. 

He didn’t approach her until the coffin was buried, carried out by agents. The press had mostly dispersed, and while none of the agents who recognized her had come to talk to her yet, she could see most were waiting for a chance to say something. Genji’s brother was the first to break the silence, walking right up to her as his brother chased after him. His fists were at his side.

“ _ You _ .” It wasn’t a question. His voice reminded Ana of a growl. Fitting, she thought, from a master of dragons. 

Fitting, she thought, from a man with the temper of one. 

“Me.” She lifted her chin. “You’re Genji’s brother, yes?”

“Hanzo--” Genji was tugging on his brother’s shoulder. Hanzo didn’t budge. Knowing their history, it was odd to see them within a foot of one another. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed is a harsh word.”

“He thought you were dead.” Neither needed to say who they were talking about.

“I did not want it to be that way.”

“And yet that was the way it was.” He took a step forward into her personal space. Like he could intimidate her. Fool. “Did you not have access to a phone over these years? Or did you not care to pick it up for a moment to call a man who visited your grave once a year?”  
  
Guilt stung. “You think you can judge me?”  
“I think someone has to,” Genji had stopped tugging at his brother’s arm, and Ana had a feeling it was because he agreed with Hanzo. Which given their history, was a moment she thought worth marking. 

“This was not a choice I made easily,” she said, shooting Genji an apologetic look. She cared little for what this stranger thought of her, but Genji. Well Genji deserved better. “I didn’t wish to lie to him. It was to protect him. All of you.” 

“Protect him?” Hanzo spat. “What protection is this?” Behind him, Genji stepped back. Ana had a feeling, if not for the visor, he would be glaring. 

“Brother!”

This time Ana stepped forward. Looked at the archer eye to eye and put on her glare that she swore had better air than any sniper rifle. “I believe--” she said. “It is the protection of a man who has only succeeded at killing for all of his life and nothing more.” 

Hanzo gaped at her for a moment. Ana felt a moment of gratification from the hurt in his eyes. It was below her, she knew, she was better than such pettiness, but Jesse was dead. She could be petty if she wanted to, if only for a moment. His eyebrows furrowed. This was not a man who would take this sitting down. She saw his hands ball into fists. 

Ana didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t the place for it, this funeral for a man who died too young. But if this man dared to throw a punch, she would throw one back. 

“I--”

“Fareeha!” Genji called, waving in the distance. Ana turned around, taking in her daughter. She was stalking towards them, her hands balled into fists. Her eyes were still wet.

“You!” She said, pointing at Hanzo. “How dare you think of fighting here, of all places!” Hanzo looked down, eyes narrowed, hands shaking. Fareeha took a few more steps forward so they were standing close and turned to Ana. When she spoke next, it was in a hiss. “And you, mother! Do you want all your work in hiding to be for nothing? You draw more attention to yourself, someone may--”

She cut off. Ana followed her gaze to behind her. Genji was gone now, walking off, his hands in the air, his lighting red. She could hear him muttering under his breath in Japanese. He sounded furious. Her gaze traveled to Hanzo who was now looking at Fareeha at wide eyes.

“You knew.” He said. His eyes narrowed. “You knew all this time and you never told him.”

Fareeha’s looked away, gritting her teeth. Ana glared at the archer. He could yell at her all he wanted but attack her daughter? How dare he?

“This was not her choice--”

“I made my own choices, Mother,” Fareeha cut in. 

“I--”

“Everyone.” They all turned to Angela, who had walked right into the middle of their conversation. She looked to be holding up well, Ana thought, but Angela had always dealt well with shocks. Ana didn’t miss how Angela’s gaze kept flicking towards her, however. “People are watching. May we continue this conversation later?”

They looked over their shoulders, taking in the press. Ana’s gut twisted; they likely got some good pictures for the tabloids. Hopefully her face was obscured enough. She walked forward towards the cars waiting for Overwatch agents, as Angela took Fareeha’s hand and Mei intervened to drag away Hanzo. 

“I see that went well,” Morrison said as passed him. Ana shook her head and tried to keep from looking at the grave behind them.

“It’s a funeral, Jack,” she said. “They never go well.”

She entered the car with him staring after her. 

* * *

 

Staring at Ana, McCree felt like he’d been shot all over again.

He could still remember the last time he saw her, all those years ago. How could he not? It had haunted him for years afterwards. He’d been discussing Blackwatch with her, going over some missions Ana wanted more information about, before they devolved into small talk. Before she’d left for her mission, something with Jack, she’d given his shoulder a tight squeeze and smiled.

_ “Dinner is this Sunday, McCree. Fareeha will be there. Don’t be late.” _

McCree never showed up for dinner. There wasn’t one; they buried Ana instead, McCree doing his best to keep himself together for Fareeha’s sake. She’d left a week later with a kiss on his forehead, asking him to watch out for himself.

The next time he would see her was a month later, in a hospital room, when he’d lost his arm.

McCree watched as Ana’s eyes widened at the sight of him. She looked older, he thought, with grey hair and wrinkles. The kind of age he’d wished she gotten to reach. She didn’t say anything, her hand covering her mouth. Her gaze turned from McCree to Morrison, then back again. 

“Ana, you’re--” McCree didn’t finish, finding himself suddenly tackled by an armful of Lena. Man, she was quick. The impact hurt a little, too much force on fresh wounds, but he recovered his breath soon enough. He felt her cry into his shirt, tears soaking into the fabric.

“Lena--”

“You wanker!” Lena shoved him backwards. The wheelchair butted into Angela and McCee heard her let out a grunt. McCree looked up at Lena, whose eyes were wide, red, and absolutely furious. 

McCree had learned some things through his many years in Overwatch. The first was never to challenge Hana to a video game competition unless you wanted your ass handed to you on the world wide web. The second was to never bring up the fact Genji sang the one of the Naruto themes in the shower. 

The third was that an angry Tracer was a Tracer to fear. 

“It wasn’t my idea!” McCree raised his hands, hoping to avoid any wrath. “Ain’t my idea at all! I thought you all knew until I forced these two to spill the beans! Said something about having to catch targets and shit.” He pointed over his shoulder to Morrison and Angela. Angela looked like she was considering sprinting in the other direction. Morrison, on the other hand, showed no sign of fear. Lena was still eyeing him. “Look, you really think I’d let anyone give Genji my gun if I had say in this! Man can’t shoot for shit!”

There was a long moment of silence before anyone spoke.

“Insulted by a ghost,” Genji said, stepping over from his side of the room. He passed by Ana, who was glaring at Morrison, Fareeha, who was glaring at Angela, and Hanzo who just looked liked he’d been hit in the face by something large and heavy. “That is something I thought I would never see.” He stopped in front of McCree’s chair and crossed his arms. “You have a way of making me question the world, Jesse McCree.” 

A couple things happened at once. Before anyone else could say anything, Fareeha left, heading out one of the hallways. Ana soon followed, grabbing Morrison’s arm and dragging him off into another hallway. And Hanzo, damned Hanzo, looked at McCree for a long moment before clearing his throat.

“I am pleased to see you are not dead.”

And with that he left, stalking off into one of the other hallways. 

“What a welcome,” McCree said after a moment, voice dry. “Come back from the dead and everyone runs away.” 

_ Everyone’s always running away from you, Jesse McCree _ , his brain whispered. He closed his eyes. Damn brain. Damn emotions. Damn Overwatch.

Damn him. 

“I’m gonna tell the kids the good news!” Lena said. If she noticed the expression on his face, she didn’t say anything. She looked to Angela. “Did you find the mole, by the way?”

Angela nodded. “We believe any agents planted in Overwatch proper have been rooted out.” McCree felt himself relax a fraction. That was a relief. “But we do not want Deadlock to know this was a ruse, so--”

“Excellent! You’re gonna have the best “not dead” time of your life.” 

“He has to go back to his room. He isn’t recovered--” Angela didn’t finish as Lena darted out of the room. Genji followed her, saying he had some business to take care of as well. 

“It looks like we will have to move you to a bigger hospital room,” Angela said, resigned. McCree looked down each of the hallways. 

He wondered if any of his visitors would be those he truly needed to talk to. 

 

* * *

 

Hanzo entered his own room torn between the urge to walk back to say something substantial to McCree or to get very, very drunk. 

He settled on drinking. Because he was half sure if walked back to talk to McCree, he’d make an utter fool out of himself. 

He’d only retrieved his bottle of sake before there was a knock on the door.

“I am busy.” 

“No, you are not.” Genji then. Hanzo was struck with a memory from years ago, when he would knock on his brother’s door, accusing the same. 

“You do not know that.”

“I know you. And I know your voice when you lie. You are doing nothing. Except perhaps drinking.” He heard Genji take a step forward. “Sake at this hour? Really, brother?”

Hanzo looked down at the bottle in hand and sighed. He put it back in his closet and let it sit there on the shelf. For another day, he supposed. He walked over to the door, but after a moment of thought, walked on back to his bed. Sat down on the edge of it.

It was easier to talk to Genji this way. Where Genji could not see his face, his thoughts laid bare. Where he could not see Genji’s armor, a reminder of how terribly he’d failed him. 

“What is it that you want?”

“McCree is back in the infirmary.” A moment of panic filled Hanzo despite himself. “Angela says he should not be walking about. She wants him to rest.”

The panic dissipated. Hanzo let out deep breath. “I wish her luck in that endeavor.”

Genji chuckled. If Hanzo focused, truly focused past the robotic edge, he could hear his brother’s laugh for what it used to be. “Oh, she will need it.” He heard a thump on the door. Genji was likely leaning against it now. “Lena is throwing him a party. Hana has promised to bring entertainment, and I am sure it will be a loud and noisy affair much to the Doctor’s horror.” He paused before speaking next. “I believe you should come.” 

Hanzo thought about it for a moment. While he hated crowds, Overwatch was not a group of strangers anymore, but a group of comrades. Friends. People he could trust. The noise levels would not bother him under those circumstances. But to see McCree, McCree who he mourned in that hospital bed, alive. Another creature from the dead returned to him. While his serape still rested on Hanzo’s bedside table.

“I do not believe,” Hanzo said haltingly. “that is a good idea.”

An annoyed sound came through the door. “He is your friend, Hanzo. You cannot continue avoiding him.”

“I am not avoiding him.”

“And I am not standing here right now.” Hanzo glared at the door. “Why not come? Why not join us?” Another pause. “Do you not know what to say?”

Hanzo thought of a variety of lies, from simple to complicated. He was sick. He had no desire to be in a cramped room. He was tired. He was worried he would argue with Angela. All of them he could tell his brother and Genji would likely leave him alone.

Hanzo was tired of lying.

“I know what I want to say,” he said at last, resigned. “I am not certain if it should be said.”

The silence lingered for a long moment. All Hanzo could hear were the Overwatch vents above them. The sound of his own breathing.

“Hanzo,” Genji said at last. “I will not force you to come. But I will tell you this; dead men do not rise very often. And second chances are not to be wasted.”

Hanzo only could listen to Genji’s footsteps as he walked away. 


	4. Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who followed this story! You're all MVPs. My beta Nina is a star and deserves all the awards!
> 
> Also, I have been jossed by the comics on why Ana faked her death. But I think this fits the bill alight. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

McCree learned something valuable in his “you’re not dead party”; Hana Song was just as good at board games as she was at video games. 

“Checkmate,” she said, lying back in chair they’d gotten out. Most of Overwatch had come to visit him, sitting in folded chairs that Angela dragged in or standing around the room. Tracer was chatting up a storm with Mei in the corner, while Genji looked to be having a rigorous debate with Lúcio on musical tastes. Winston, the big softie, had fallen asleep in the corner, and McCree could hear him snoring. Zenyatta, a rare visitor, was talking to Reinhardt. McCree could only guess on what; maybe dealing with resentment on being lied to over a decade.

McCree wondered if he would benefit from the same advice. 

“McCree.” McCree snapped back to himself. Hana was looking at him with what he’d grown to recognize as her “I am concerned but I don’t want to panic” yet look. She pointed to the chess board. “You lost.”

That he did. McCree let out a whistle. Beaten in twenty moves: not bad. Not bad at all. “I thought you played on screens, not on a board.”

Hana rolled her eyes. McCree wondered if he was like her at that age; cocky, smart, and quick to mouth off. He decided Hana was in better shape than he was; after all, Hana was a veteran warrior at nineteen, not a crook with a lengthy rap sheet. 

“It’s tactics. Video games have tactics. Board games have tactics. They’re not that different.”

“You call those mobile games tactics based?”

“Only the good ones.” She looked over at Lúcio. “Hey Lúcio! Think we can get McCree to try Pokemon?”

Both Lúcio and Genji stopped talking to look over at him.

“I have an old retro cartridge--” Lúcio started. 

“You have never played Pokemon?” McCree hadn’t heard Genji sound this appalled since McCree drank day old coffee. 

“Oh no,” McCree held up his hands. “I don’t need any fancy video games. I have better things to do.”

“Like what? Falling asleep in the lounge?” Lena’s teasing voice rang across the room.

“Watching the same Westerns over and over?” Winston mumbled, apparently less asleep then McCree previously thought . 

“Complaining about the weather?” Mei said.

McCree slumped down in his bed, crossing his arms. The pout that appeared on his face was practiced after years of serving under Ana and Gabe. “And here I thought I was gonna have some respect ‘round here.”

“Aw, Jesse,” Lena was next to his side in a flash. McCree was of the opinion he would never be used to her popping around the place. She leaned on him. “Of course you have our respect. Nothing was the same without you. Everyone was miserable.” She looked at him with big eyes. McCree realized with a dawning sense of horror that she might cry if they continued this conversation. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Course I do,” McCree reached up and threw his arm around Lena. “Clearly, I am the glue keeping this team together.”

There was a quiet moment where no one spoke. McCree felt like his stomach was sinking. He decided that the teasing was preferable to this. At least teasing didn’t have him confronting others’ pain at his demise. 

“I was kiddin’, guys.”

Zenyatta was the only one who laughed. It was a polite laugh, the kind the monk made when he wanted to fit into a social situation. McCree wondered if he should fake passing out or something just to escape everyone from staring at him. 

A knock on the door came before he decided to commit to any plan of action.

“Come on in!” McCree said. “But just warnin’ you, this party has no punch. Doctor’s orders!” 

The door opened. McCree didn’t know who he was expecting. Maybe Hanzo, maybe Fareeha. Or Morrison, acting like something less of a jackass. He wasn’t expecting Ana to be standing there instead, hood down to show the hijab underneath, a soft smile on her face. In her hand was a small bouquet of flowers. 

“Hello, Jesse,” she said, waving the flowers. Three petals from the yellow blooms drifted to the floor. “I thought your room could use brightening up.”

McCree looked at her for a moment. His mind had gone terribly blank, conflicted between being hurt and grateful that she was alive. Knowing neither of those routes for emotion were good for company, he settled into the role he put on outside Overwatch, his role from when he was on the run. The good-natured cowboy who never let anything or anyone drag him down.

“Don’t know if there’s enough room,” he said, gesturing to the crowd gathered. “But you could probably use the chess table since Hana just wiped the floor with me.”

“It was a mercy kill.” Hana’s voice sounded the same as usual, but McCree doubted she was missing the tension in the room. “He’s terrible.”

“I doubt he could be any worse than when he started,” Ana said. “My daughter beat him the first time they played.” A fond smile crossed her face. “She was 12 at the time. I believe she asked for your hat as her prize.”

That she did, McCree remembered. For a solid week, Fareeha had ownership of his hat, walking around the base yelling at people to “draw.” She gave it back to him after she decided she wanted to pretend to be Jack instead, and McCree could still remember whining to Ana about being passed up as coolest Overwatch member by “golden-boy” Morrison.

He used to look on those memories with fondness. After everything had fallen apart, they’d turned bittersweet. Given recent events, McCree was worried they might turn out only bitter. Looking at Ana, he gestured at an open seat.  His feelings on everything could wait; he was in polite company. “Sit down. Stay awhile.” 

She did. The gathering stayed awkward for the duration, the old members of Overwatch clearly split over recent events, but it stayed civil. Ana managed to strike up conversation with some of the newer members of the team, clearly delighted by Lúcio. She and Mei appeared to know each other as well, sharing a few words. Reinhardt, while still clearly bitter, looked to put his grievances aside for a moment to greet his old friend. The hug he gave Ana looked to almost swallow her up. 

They trickled out, one by one, after Angela came in to do a quick check on him. Hana went first, having to fire up one of her streams, and Reinhardt followed her, interested in seeing one of them play out in real time. Lena went with Winston to help him on some repairs, and after they left, most followed. Genji left last, but not before whispering him a message. 

“Fareeha will be on the roof later, if you wish to confront her. I suggest you hold onto your hat: she may try to take it once more.”

McCree doubted that, but he laughed anyway as Genji exited through the main door. 

“So Ana,” he said when the room had cleared, a bright smile on his face. Forced, a mask he associated with years on his own, a train blurring by, a howl in the distance.  The fluorescent lights above him reminded him of the New Mexico sun. “What have you been up to?”

Ana didn’t say anything, sitting down in the chair Hana had vacated. She put the flowers on top of the chess board, knocking over a few pieces. McCree kept perfectly still as they hit the floor. Her eyes were on his face and when she leaned back in her chair, McCree felt like he was under the gaze of her rifle. 

“You can’t lie to me, Jesse McCree,” she said at last. “So I suggest you don’t bother.”

McCree lifted his chin, straining the smile further. He wasn’t quite sure why he was trying to keep it up, with everyone gone. Maybe for his fool pride. “I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yes, you do.” Ana pointed to her eye, the good one. “This eye isn’t only good for shooting. I can see bullshit through it just as well. And you are full of bullshit.”

“Ain’t I always?” The smile grew even wider, cracking. Like clay left in the sun. 

Ana’s gaze grew soft. Like it had years ago when she’d seen Reyes drag in a stupid kid instead of a hardened gang member. “Not the kind that hurts you.”

The smile vanished. McCree gritted his teeth. Looked away. Let that bitterness fill his bones, the kind of bitterness that got him through weeks alone under the desert stars. Too bitter to break.

“And why’d you care ‘bout that?”

He heard Ana let out a sigh. “I deserved that.” 

Some part of McCree, the part that put on a show, wanted to argue that she didn’t. Because Ana had helped give him everything over these years; a life worth living, a job worth keeping, friends worth risking his neck for. Who was McCree to judge her for her choices? He had no control over her life. He wasn’t her kin. 

The other part of McCree, the part that took no bullshit even from himself, knew she deserved every word. 

_ Ana wasn’t his kin. But she damn sure felt like it.  _

“Did Fareeha know?” He looked towards her. Her chin was lifted and she nodded once. McCree felt his guts twist. So she knew. She’d always known. “Fucking fantastic.” 

“I wanted to tell you--”

“Wanted ain’t the same as did.”

“It was for security-”

“Hang security.”

“Jesse--”

That did it. McCree felt himself shake. His hands balled into fists. When he spoke next, it was with a bite. “The name is McCree.” 

Ana didn’t flinch but McCree could see the hurt there. Hurt he caused. Any moment of satisfaction quickly faded. Who was he, getting joy out of hurting people? People he claimed to miss and--

“Hell.” He hung his head, his fingers threading through his hair. “Hell.” The sound of the cot rattling made him realize he was shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something else. Anything else. Sand in his fingers. Genji stealing his favorite serapes during the winter as a recruit. Hana sticking out her tongue at him when she beat him during practice. Hanzo’s voice over the wind when he made an impressive shot.

“I likely blew my cover at your funeral.”

McCree stopped shaking. 

“Excuse me?”

“I likely blew my cover at your funeral,” Ana said, her voice calm. “I’ve been working underground for a few years. With my aim, I’m sure they suspected who I was. The photos in the paper of me arguing with that archer will likely prove their suspicions.” 

Questions lingered on McCree’s tongue. What was Ana working on? Why was she arguing with Hanzo?  He kept silent. 

“I don’t regret it.”

“What?” McCree lifted up his head to look at her. Ana’s posture had softened, now the old friend instead of the soldier. 

“I don’t regret my cover being blown,” she said. “I’m angry Jack didn’t tell me, of course, he should have known better, but I don’t regret coming, even if it was a ruse.” She tilted her head. “It gave me a chance to mend some old mistakes. Mistakes I should have mended a long time ago. Lies that were no longer worth keeping.”

McCree stared for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what to say. He thought back to himself years ago, when Jack told him the news about Ana. How he’d left the briefing room to check on Fareeha first, to make sure she was okay, to be strong while she cried. How right after, when she’d fallen asleep, he’d gone into his own room and sobbed for hours. 

How he’d wished she’d come back.

“I--” McCree started. “I’m angry. I’m not gonna deny that.”

“I’m not expecting you to.”

“And I ain’t gonna let this go either. Not right now. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

“I’m not expecting that either.”

“Then what are you expecting?”

Ana looked at him for a moment. Stretched her arms in a clear invitation. 

“A hug from an old friend would be nice.”

McCree didn’t even think about it. He hugged her tight, burying his face in her shoulder. Let this hug count for all the hugs he’d wished for years back, while he was on the road, while he was in the hospital down an arm. If he cried on her shoulder a little, well, neither said anything.

“You’re still wearing that belt? Really, Jesse.” Ana said when he pulled away. McCree ran his hand through his hair.

“You gave it to me.”

“I didn’t expect you to wear it.” 

“Then you should have known better.”

Ana laughed. And despite the bitterness that still lingered in his chest, McCree felt at home.

 

* * *

 

After Ana left and Angela had done her next round, McCree took to the roof.

He wasn’t surprised to find Fareeha already there.

He didn’t say anything as he sat down next to her, content to sit in the silence. Over the years, he’d learned it was better to let her speak on her own time, rather than to force her to tell him anything. They were there for almost fifteen minutes before she said a single word. 

“Are you angry?” She didn’t look at him as she asked staring out at the sunset. McCree could remember the first time they sat here. Her thirteen, convinced the world could be made right. Him, still resisting the urge to go back to Deadlock. Counting the stars.

It had been the first time he’d ever really felt like he belonged at Overwatch. There on a rooftop with a little girl who saw his hat and saw a hero instead of villain.

“Yep,” McCree said. There was no point in lying; he was downright furious. At Ana for lying to him in the first place, at her for letting him believe it. “Why’d you lie to me, Fareeha? Did you think I couldn’t keep a secret?”

“Of course not.” She looked at him this time. The soldier’s look was gone from her face, replaced by the little sister, the best friend, the kid he’d watched grow up and become a better person than he’d ever be. “I--” Her fingers dug into her knees. “I was going to tell you. Once the press backed off. I swore to myself--” She cut off. “But I kept putting it off. I had to make sure it was safe and then--” She looked at his arm. The metal one. She gritted her teeth. “I kept her secret and then you were gone.”

McCree could fill in the blanks. He knew his own history. He’d lost his arm only a month after Ana died in an explosion gone wrong. Before Fareeha had even had the chance to visit him, he’d snuck out of his hospital room, desperate to get away from Morrison and Reyes. Morrison and Reyes who spent their time arguing over the com while he laid pinned under rubble. He liked to say he wasn’t bitter for that, the hour he’d spent waiting on two old men. 

He’d be lying.

“Shit,” McCree said, taking off his hat. It seemed so much larger in his hands. They sat there for a few more minutes in silence.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I’m angry,” McCree said at last. He turned the hat in his hands, then looked to Fareeha. She wasn’t looking at him. It was so odd, to see her ashamed. “And I’m gonna be angry for awhile.” He reached up and put the hat on her head. Fareeha almost jumped up in surprise. “But I ain’t gonna be angry forever. Not exactly the best at holdin’ grudges, you know? At least ones not worth holdin’. Not in my blood.”

Fareeha reached up to touch the brim of his hat on her hand. She lifted it up just a fraction and looked at him. “I thought Outlaws were supposed to be skilled at grudges.”

“Never said I was a good Outlaw. Think my time here proved that.”

“I am telling the others you said that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

She took off the hat and placed it on McCree’s head. McCree lifted it up so it wasn’t blocking his eyes.

“Don’t like the look?”

Fareeha rolled her eyes, but her mouth was pulled into a smile. “It’s not a look, it’s a disaster.”

“You sound like your ma.” He pointed up to the stars. “Still remember which is which?”

“I am a pilot, Jesse.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

Soon enough she caved, pointing out the stars with him there on the roof. After thirty minutes or so, when there was a lull in conversation, she reached for his shoulder. McCree expected the hug when it came. It was just as bone-crushing as usual, and he rested his hand on her back.

“You cannot scare me like that again, Jesse McCree.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kiddo.” 

Fareeha pulled back, a smile playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow. 

“I believe I remember you said you’d stop calling me that after...how did you put it,” her voice changed to a poor impersonation of his accent. “Till the day I die.”

McCree gaped at her. 

“You can’t be serious.”

Fareeha said nothing.

“This does not count. No way. I can’t--” He stopped, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. You win...”

Fareeha grinned.

“Buttercup.”

McCree only had a moment to react before she shoved him to the side. 

* * *

 

Fareeha left him on the roof after another half an hour. 

McCree had only bothered to start getting up when he heard footsteps behind him. He sat right back down, leaning back, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

“How long you been there? Didn’t your ma tell you spyin’ was rude?”

“I was not spying.” Hanzo didn’t reply until a few seconds later, his voice stiff. “I arrived recently.”

“And pigs fly.” He tapped the spot next to him and glanced over his shoulder. In the shadows, without his bow, stood Hanzo, staring at him in the dim lighting. “It means I don’t believe your bullshit. Now you gonna sit down or what?” 

Sure enough, Hanzo did sit down. He was wearing his normal attire, though McCree noticed a flash of red under his arm. “Is that my serape?”

Hanzo reached to grab it, then held it out towards McCree. It was freshly folded, and McCree was pretty sure it hadn’t been this clean in years. “I washed it. It was filthy.” 

“That means it’s gonna smell all wrong.” McCree almost pouted, plucking the garment out of Hanzo’s hands. He didn’t say how Hanzo’s fingers held onto the fabric for a moment. He brought the serape up to his hands and smelled it. It was, indeed clean. “Aw man. Now it’s lost its character.”

Hanzo smiled, amused. “It is a garment. It cannot have character.”

“Yes it can. Those mud splotches that used to be on the corner. That’s character. Sign of a life well lived.” 

“I am sure you will waste no time getting it dirty once more.” 

“You can count on it.” McCree unfolded the garment, throwing it over his current outfit. He had to admit, it was softer with the new wash. He looked to Hanzo, who was watching him carefully, smile replaced by something more contemplative. “Look, thanks. I mean it. It’s nice, you washing it an’ all.”

Hanzo shrugged. “Ms. Oxton helped.”

“Then I’m givin’ her a thank you too when I manage to catch her.” He glanced up at the stars. “So, you come here often?”

Hanzo shot him a glare. McCree relished it; it was better than the lost look he had earlier. Soon enough it softened, and he looked up at the stars. “Sometimes. I’ve heard it helps one think.”

“You quoting me now?”

“Not that you can prove.”

“I guess so.” He thought back to earlier, to the scene he’d entered when wheeled out through those doors. Hanzo’s face, before he spotted him. “You and Ana make up?”

“No.” There was no pause there.

“And I’m guessing you have no plans to.”

“I am not sure.” 

“Cus’ I’d advise you trying to mend those fences if you can. Ana on a mean streak is a Ana you wanna avoid.” Hanzo was silent. “Look, she ain’t gonna get personal about what you said. Least, not for long.”

“You did not hear what I said.”

“It couldn’t have been that--”

“I believe I said she failed you.”

McCree let that sink in for a moment. Oh man. Ana would have not taken that well. 

“Well, damn. Okay, so maybe give her a week to cool off before trying to mend those fences. You know, for your mutual safety.”

Hanzo didn’t reply, just letting out a huff. McCree figured he’d try to make nice eventually. Ana would if he didn’t, after a time. 

“You mind tellin’ me,why you two were in such a spat?”

Hanzo looked at him for a moment, gaze focused on the brim of his hat. Like he was looking beyond McCree for only something he could see.  

“I was...projecting,” he said at last.    

That explained a lot, McCree thought. Hanzo hadn’t talked much about the arrival of Genji back into his life, but it made sense that he could relate. He too had mourned someone for years who wasn’t truly gone. In Hanzo’s case, Genji taking his time was more justified, but the base emotion was still the same.

“You tell Genji about--”

“I was not projecting about Genji.”

McCree found himself caught by surprise. He tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

“I was not projecting about Genji.” Hanzo glanced out into the courtyard of the base. “I will not deny some bitterness over the circumstances of my brother’s return, but it was not the reason for my anger earlier.”

McCree hadn’t felt so lost since Blackwatch offered him a job instead of a jail cell.  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Hanzo turned his gaze back to McCree. There was nervousness there, McCree realized. A typical expression on Hanzo’s face when he was stating something he better thought silent.

“I felt Ms. Amari had harmed you, by keeping her survival a secret,” he said at last. “That she had...failed you. It was on that issue, that I was….projecting.” He left it at that. McCree felt the pieces click together. The shout as he hit the ground. The concern over his situation earlier. 

“You didn’t fail me, Hanzo.” McCree’s voice was soft. Hanzo looked away from him, a snarl on his face. McCree took a sterner tone. “I mean it. Don’t you go blaming yourself for what happened. That guy came out of nowhere.” Taking the direct approach, he tilted Hanzo’s face to look at him. When he didn’t bat his arm away, McCree took it as a sign to continue. “You ain’t at fault. You haven’t failed me. You never have.”

Hanzo was silent for a long moment, looking at McCree carefully. He took a deep breath. 

“That was not to which I was referring either.”

McCree stared. “Then what could it be, ‘cus I’m entirely lost-”

McCree had gotten used to rolling with the punches over the years. It was crucial to being a part of Overwatch, taking what life threw at you and dealing with it head on. If you couldn’t deal with surprises, you were out. McCree knew this. It was the reason he tried not to be surprised anymore.

However, when Hanzo grabbed his serape and pulled him in for a kiss, McCree found himself entirely thrown off guard.

It wasn’t a stunner of a kiss. Not really. It was awkward, neither man knowing exactly where to go with it. The kind of kiss that was more of a test round than anything else. But there was feeling behind it. A hand in his hair. Another curled in his serape.

“That is what I intended,” Hanzo said when he broke away. “That is what I thought I failed you in.”

“Kissing me? ‘Cus I’m pretty sure--” McCree cut off at the sight of Hanzo’s glare. Oh God, him and his timing. 

“The truth. I meant the truth.” He looked at McCree for a moment before turning away. “I thought you had died without knowing it. That is where I thought I had failed you.”

McCree was a man of words in many ways. Too many, some would argue, thrown aside haphazardly. Hanzo on the other hand, spoke in actions, gestures to convey emotion. It was a language McCree was still getting used to. 

Pulling Hanzo in for another kiss, he hoped his intended message would get across. 

This kiss, unlike the last, was no awkward. It carried intent. When McCree broke it off, both men were breathing heavily. 

“As far as I can see,” McCree drawled. “I ain’t dead.  So I think you haven’t failed me yet.” He grinned, wide. “So I guess, since I’m still breathing and all, if you wanted to continue with this very important-”

He could only grin and Hanzo pulled him in by his serape for another kiss. 

 

* * *

Two months later, Hanzo woke up in a hospital bed with a terrible headache and a worse disposition.

Getting kidnapped on a mission by old rivals would do that to a man.

He closed his eyes, remembering the events from before. They’d taken him on a routine op, that he knew, and for the three days he was in captivity, all he could do was replay the events in his heed. It was a rather boring kidnapping to be honest, three days of just sitting in the dark. It was only until the rescue came that anything interesting actually happened.

To be fair, qualifying an explosion as “interesting” was likely a sign of the state of Hanzo’s life. 

Before he could move, the door to his room opened, and Angela and Morrison walked in. Hanzo waited for the rest to follow, but when it was only the two of them he sat up straighter. Angela began to rattle on about his injuries, and as Hanzo could hear no one else outside the room, unease brewed in his gut. McCree had told him how he woke up after being shot, months ago. Hanzo knew this scene. 

Oh, no, they would not. Not again. They could not make him. Even with, as Angela put it “five rib fractures, a concussion and a broken leg” he would not sit here and pretend to be dead. They had better chances with actually killing him than getting him to comply to such a ruse. 

They could not keep him here. He would either steal a wheelchair or sneak through the vents. A broken leg could not--

“Brother!” Hanzo snapped out of his train of thought as Genji strolled in. Behind him was McCree, with a small smile on his face and tired eyes. “You’re awake.”

Angela groaned. “I told you he wasn’t ready for visitors--”

“I’m family! And McCree, on record, isn’t here. Isn’t that right, Jesse?”

“You betcha.”

“I am here to witness you violating code.”

“And you’re legally dead Morrison, so you can shove it.”

Hanzo fell back on his pillows, closing his eyes. The anxiety abated. He heard everyone chattering on and let himself smile.

“Good to see you again, partner.” He heard McCree say from his side.

He didn’t bother to protest as he felt a familiar red serape draped over his blankets. And if he felt McCree put his hat on his head, well, what he didn’t admit to wouldn’t hurt him. 


End file.
